


Danganronpa 4

by ruruka



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: future foundation canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 06:25:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15768447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruruka/pseuds/ruruka
Summary: Kodaka asked me to write this.





	Danganronpa 4

**Author's Note:**

> i made a tweet like 6 months ago that said the plot of dr4 would be hagakure is the protagonist and his goal is to set up a printer in the office. here it is.

Thursday morning dips the faintest wash of sun across the dew cast beneath. Warmth drifts curtains parted ever slight, tempts the working class from sleep to shift and stretch and rise. A delight to the early mind’s pinch.

At least, it’s what he’d guess a morning feels like, had he any windows in his bedroom, had he awoken before a quarter past noon on that Thursday morning.

“Mommy! Can you drive me to work?!” The basement door crashes to the top step side wall. He’s tucking yesterday’s button up into his slacks the same note he stuffs either cheek with the shake of tic tac mints. A tie corrals what it can of his hair behind the head, slipping across the kitchen tile all the way to his shoes, untied pressed to his feet, blazer snatched from the hook to fold over one arm. He blinks his nose into the air to peer around, to quiet himself and listen outward for an answer to his call. Only is it found after another handful of snooping about the cupboards, where he plucks the blue post-it off of the cabinet slapped closed before his face.

_Gone to fight with the cable guys again. Be back soon baby.  
-Mom_

Bread crumbs scatter from his coughed up laugh. His mother certainly is his favorite hero. But for the now, there must be another to fill that role, as he’s no savior in sight to whisk him the twenty minute drive over to the Future Foundation headquarters without her and her magic wheeled 2006 station wagon. His mouth wipes to one sleeve. He’ll have to change into his bus pants.

“Hagakure.” The mud of the drizzly morning sidewalk plays a dead giveaway to his entrance, trails footprints from the front glass all across to the time card puncher. At the same corner, he’s met in a chill of his being; she’s _standing_ there, the big boss of the world, he deems, fixing him in the thousand year stare of hers that tells no truths. “It’s almost one PM.”

Save for that one. Twelve:fifty three clips onto the card as he retracts it to turn her way, grin his brightest and scratch a finger to the scruff of his jaw. “...Great! Lunch time!”

To her stance, he lets his gaze drop along, anywhere but the _look_ on her face, _anywhere_ , and he finds himself peering at the wide cardboard clasped in her either hand. Quick in a terrible drag, he claims new ownership of the box by force of her over. “New printer. Set it up. ...Please.”

He’d be more astounded with Kirigiri Kyouko asking pretty please of anyone were he not so enthralled by scanning over the gift. Awfully nice of her, though he has no computer at home to attach it to, so he supposes he‘ll be generous enough to plug it in here in the office for everyone’s use. He doesn’t think it’d be worth much to sell, anyhow.

Three minutes of legs criss crossed to the hallway carpet and packing peanuts covering the rest, he decides the instruction booklet bears far too many words, and the printer itself bears far too many parts for him to ever make sense of. They stuff back inside the box they’d come from, not quite as proper as the manufacturer had placed them, but a few spare bits sticking up from the top flaps don’t seem to pressing an issue- not more than the shadow falling around the near corner.

He stumbles to rise with the box claiming his arms. “Togamichi!” Though he calls, the shadow does not pause, keeps himself straight backed and tight eyed ahead toward the break room. “Togamichi!”

Hagakure misses the sigh bold enough to ripple his mug’s brew. From a pace off, Togami at last graces him in a swivel his way. A slow blink behind his lenses signals the other’s beaming.

“Ehh...” One glance peels over a shoulder, leads him to lower his voice for a duo. “Kirigirichi told me to tell you to set this printer up.”

Simple as salt does Togami’s expression slip into a handsome glaring. “After so many failed attempts to scam me over the years, I’d think you’d realize that I can see through you like cheap chiffon.” His lips go to take the rim of his coffee, though before he moves into a sip and a turn away, says, “Try Naegi.”

One knee tips the box higher in his hold. Togami’s vanished before he can think of thinking of a reply, but he’s got bigger worries to wrestle down when his newest victim trips into his web.

“Naegichi!”

The newcomer gasps into a startle, eyes frazzled mangos stuck before him. In his hand to the heart relax, Naegi presses a smile upward to him, tells him hello hello good morning in his always so sweet fashion, and Hagakure lolls out greeting if only to further. “Heeey, wanna help a guy out?”

Most always, he doesn’t lust after it, merely suffers from the dastardly disorder of not knowing refusal. “Um...” A hand finds his nape where the hair’s been sheared to find bare morning, and Naegi’s smiling a strained bit now. “I was just gonna go ask Kirigiri what she wants for lunch-“

“Oh! Perfect!” Naegi could never guess why he’s spouted the exclamation (in pure English, no less), though has only the sense to grasp onto the weight shoved his way. Freed, Hagakure tosses his hands to the hips. “You can put the printer together while I make a McDonald’s run.”

“Hagaku-“

“McDonald’s?” Faultless timing, Asahina’s ponytail flicks around the bend of the wall. “I want a chocolate shake!”

Hagakure matches her ebullience, next glance down to Naegi’s hunched form tilting it a tad soured; his knees rest folded the same as his back, face reading pinkened as he struggles to better distribute the printer box’s weight. He hears a click of tongue to teeth, then hears Naegi accordion out an exhale as his arms are liberated. Asahina hefts the box upon one shoulder to ask, “What’s in here?”

“New printer!” chirps Hagakure. “Kirigirichi said she wanted m- Ahh- Naegichi to set it up. And quick, before she leaves her office and sees him doing it, she said.”

“Right.” Across the slim hall’s width, her office door has peeled her from it, arms folded a brisk note over the chest as she leans to the wall beside it. He purses his lips a low terror, and while his blood rumbles cold to her presence, Kirigiri only tips her lashes up to catch his stare. “I want a large fry and twenty piece McNugget.” A glove guides a flick of lilac silk over one shoulder. “And a Sprite.”

Hagakure lifts his brows into his endless summer smile. “Hungry girl,” he says in delight, then presses on a look of determination to melt his nod. “Alright! Nobody move, Yasuhiro will be back with the goods before you know it, ‘kay?”

His arms bend at the elbows to dive him into a turn toward the door, freezes ever the comic to twist back on the same foot. “Ah, let me go ask Togamichi what he wants! Ha...Hahah!”

Asahina’s head tilts into a quirk of confusion for him to grasp, landed instead to Naegi who can only shrug with the subtlest ghosting of disappointment on his face. Brushing past them, Hagakure works to slip himself inside the end of the hall break room, lights a bright sheet over tile and tables. The percolator drips idly beside the microwave’s clip shut. Fingers attached to the motion catch his attention.

“Togamichi, ey, ey!” Without a glance, he’s able to jerk his arm away before touch is to come in contact. Fresh from reheating, he stirs a spoon through the bowl of cream soup. Hagakure pays the meal no mind. “What’ll it be, big guy?”

Sidelong, Togami leers to him. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, but if this is anything similar to when you asked what I wanted from the sandwich shop only to ask for my debit card as well, let’s just skip to that step. No.”

His shoulders shrink in desperation. “Togamichiii...did you sleep on the floor last night? You seem kinda grumpy.”

They shift to face head on each other. Togami Byakuya cannot spare the breath wasted, sets his lunch to the counter top to cross either arm. “What is Naegi getting.”

Never the question, always the demand. It strikes a fire in all who should catch it, though Hagakure has never found himself perturbed by his sweet old pal. Yet still he blanches, because, “Oh ho ho... I maybe...forgot to ask him...”

His jaw aims the gorgeous model’s pose to turn the slightest, blinks two times over between the return. “I’ll make a wild guess and assume you’ve offered to make a fast food run to escape work again.” From an interior pocket, a pair of fingers offer outward a sleek black card to water the other’s mouth. “He likes vanilla milkshakes and chicken sandwiches. Don’t buy Fukawa anything.”

The recipient clutches the card as a migrant palming water to the mouth. He’s collected himself up into a sprint off again fore any more words can be exchanged. _Success, ho ho!_ It’s all that rings through his mind as he chases the early afternoon breeze down meters of the parking lot. His underarms have already gained dark shadows by the time he’s reach the sidewalk, bends his nose out left, right, left, right to watch the rushing traffic. A double lane separates him from the grand Golden Arches. Close to half their allotted break time ticks by in waiting for a red light.

His feet dance a tempo of impatience. Three motorcycles scream by exhaust up to wilt his hair. It isn’t until he notes the scrape upon the breaks a pickup truck halts into a few steps off, a line behind following suit, all cleared for the red carpet crosswalk a choppy banged older woman staggers across, that he smells his chance. Hagakure blinks to her, and her first step unto his side of the road pushes him to trade for the other. A lean on the horn and a front bumper an inch from his ass don’t work well to deter his sprint over.

“One chocolate shake, three vanilla, one McChicken, two quarter pounders with cheese- haha, that’s a half pound, then -a large fry, twenty piece McNugget- are you still serving breakfast? Aw, man. Well then, uhh... Happy Meal! With a boy’s toy.” Hands perched to the counter, his body lurches into catching his breath for the first time all day. Sweat perks his forehead. He swallows back the gasp for air, settled. “And a Sprite.”

Across the counter, the teenager pales within his uniform and dark bangs, glances several taps to the cash register before he peeks over a shoulder to call, “Uh...Harukawa, could you help me out..?”

“ _Whooo wants Mickey D’s?!_ ” Serving his friends an afternoon of mirth feels his life’s greatest deed. Perhaps it’s been his echoing holler, or foot so sudden to kick in the door and enter in, but his nearest _friend_ doesn’t seem quite kind to spot him in her sap throat mosquito squint up his way. That or all together, the predecessor of _those idiots_ making too much noise clacking together machinery in the hall closest to her own desk, sitting instead by herself at a corner far off, not at all because Fukawa’s no invitations to sit with another for afternoon lunch (though for the fact that she brings with her a dinner show of filth and open mouthed chewing, no one can be blamed fully). But she’s placed there on her own, growling and shivering into the press of a hard boiled egg still whole beyond her lips’ flaking skin. She’s placed there in a hunch over that strikes straightened upon his entrance beside her so jarring, never called for, enough to shock her into a gasp inward that guides the mouthful of food to clog her trachea’s top. Hands clutch her throat’s outside, and he tilts one brow upward to her scraping clucking gags that bound to him.

“Well, jeez, if you don’t like McDonald’s, you don’t gotta eat it,” he says, never one to point out another’s rude margins, though the way she’s refused him this curtly steps his nose pointed only forward in his hunt for the break room. Joviality spurts back up in his veins the second he spots the turned shoulders of Togami placed before the hushing sink spout. He slings his arm across them.

“I’m home!” To the left side, paper bags sit curled within his fist, makes Togami sneer to glance over and imagine the drips of grease. Hagakure’s second arm stays curled around a drink tray, joined by the other once its shrugged off. Togami flicks water from his fingertips and collects his fresh scrubbed Tupperware in a glower dropped toward the foodstuffs setting to the center table.

“Dig in, dig in.” His hands roam the orders to divvy out, lifts a container of nuggets to drop heavy in Kirigiri’s waiting palms. Asahina looms beside them, too, he notes, and she’s all but starved in the expression to stuff a straw into her cup’s lid. A certain quiet works its way into the mix, Naegi turning them a set of four around the circle table until another turns it quint. To Togami’s out held hand, Hagakure bats blinks back, then lifts the shine of his eyes upward to fill the wait. “Here ya go, Togamichi- I thought you could use a Happy Meal.”

Chocolate milkshake swallows before Asahina belts her cackling giggles, just adjacent to the smirk tempting Kirigiri’s mouth. A glare nearly melts the red of the cardboard. “Give me my card,” demands he and that same palm he rushes outward, to which he’s granted a ducked smile more sheepish than any other, a card transferred pocket to hand to hand to pocket. Togami huffs from the nose. With a hold he straightens the lapel to his blazer, brings it down next to lift together the value meal box gifted his way. His eyes shift once, twice, untucks the cardboard to dig inside the box. “You couldn’t even get me the one for men...” Togami scoffs into picking out the plastic wrapped pink plushness. The little Hello Kitty toy passes downward to another set of fingers, and Naegi accepts it in a silent hue of amusement on his lips.

Mouth stuffed in calories, Hagakure looks up and spews, “I think the kid behind the counter was having a hard time keeping track of things.” He laughs, until it is that their higher up intervenes, “He’d fit in well around here.” Hip to hip, Kirigiri holds out the container of fries between she and Asahina’s wandering hands and munching mouth to share. “I trust the printer is coming along well.”

“The first time you ever choose to _trust_ something, and it’s this squadron of idiocy.” The Happy Meal box drops to the table, lighter than its origin though never admitted to, leaves Togami to wipe his palms to each other in his flaunt for the doorway. Asahina swallows into barking back, “Like you’re one to talk, Mister Just Learned How To Use A Microwave Last Week.”

On a heel, he swivels, casts his golden locks in a shiver about the face, and Hagakure does see the cat mouth smirk to Asahina’s face, but he doesn’t understand how that’s been deserving of her cup being slapped down from her hand to splatter chocolate along the white tile.

“Hey!”

Shoes to shins, she drips in cold saccharine, personality reflecting just exactly the opposite. Togami’s already taken his leave, as has Kirigiri long since, he just now notices, in her ability to disappear in practical thin air; they both have gone, and Asahina dashes swift after her newest assailant. Hagakure blinks, glances down to Naegi in his spot at one table seat, soft in his chews upon the mouthful of McChicken within them. His starshine grin is returned a mild note.

“O-Kay!” Thick as tree stumps, Hagakure’s palms prove loud as they look in a fat clap together. They’ve migrated to the hallway again, lunch digesting in stomachs and trash bins, leaves Naegi to crouch upon his slack clad knees on the carpet and peer over the printer’s instruction manual. Hagakure watches on above him, moral as any support could wish to be.

Somewhere far off, he hears an announcement for Togami Byakuya to report to the human resources department, hears the swivel of Kirigiri’s office chair and the scratch of yet another talley mark on the notepad on her wall. Somewhere, he hears Asahina jostle deadweight shoulders and yell that soandso isn’t breathing, but he can’t quite remember what a Heimlich maneuver is and the printer really needs to be set up anyway. He crouches to listen closer to Naegi’s next reading, “Umm...I think you have to put this front piece on...here...and then you plug it in- no, wait, you put the little feet on the bottom first. And then you plug it in, and, uh, it should...work..?”

An index nail digs within the cavity of a back molar for the food bits lodged within it. He wonders if his dentist from elementary school is still holding that grudge.

“Hagakure?”

“Hah? Oh!” His hands meet flat to the carpet in a practiced leap frog position. But now isn’t the time for that. “Yes! Put the slidey thing onto the front! And then we...plug it in!”

To them both alone, Naegi nods a quick laugh, and does his best to click the slidey thing into place to collect inked up paper. Eventually. Hagakure watches him check the security of it, upend it afterward despite the minor wiggle of the piece to fit the feet into the bottom slots. Hagakure watches, again again again, fiddles one finger across his lips to cure boredom. The same reaches out to tickle Naegi’s closest ear. He pinches in at the shoulder to combat it.

“Hm...okay!” says his sudden vigor, smiling pride to his own handiwork. “I think this is right.”

Hagakure whoops and cheers them bother standing, Naegi hefting the assembled machinery into his arms to kiss the corner table aside a copier. Interruption calls from the nearby ajar of Kirigiri’s door.

“That’s for Togami’s office,” she informs without batting an eye away from pen scrawling along pages. Naegi freezes before one nod. He strains himself to lug the load another meter away. Hagakure ambles aside him like breeze guides leaves, whistling a nursery rhyme past his lips.

Together (perhaps not so much from Naegi’s perspective, who carries the brunt of the operation still) they trade a table fern to set the printer in its place, leaving the little plant on the corner of the center desk, Hagakure taking care to arrange the leaves in a healthy fashionable state and shoot a thumbs up the punctuation. Naegi rises from his bend at the outlet, breathing out a chime of relief that the lights on the top blink to life. “Okay,” he says. “We’ll have to wait for Togami to come back so he can test it.”

“ _Oi, Naegi, I’m right here_ ,” tenses his whole form, relaxing only once the source of the voice is placed as the one spun in the leather office chair, arms behind the head and pants lifted enough to reveal banana-print socks between the shoes perched atop the desk.

Though lax has found him to check off the office plate’s namesake sings nowhere near yet, Naegi still reads highstrung to glance each direction. “Ah, maybe you shouldn’t do that, Hagakure... I don’t think Togami’s in the best mood today...”

“I’m not.” And _now_ is his time to stiffen every cell, likewise does the copycat turn scaredycat to duck behind the desk as though he’d never disturbed a mite. Togami spins a leer across the pair of them, face a rose bush for its dangerous vermillion. “I’m not in the _best mood today_ , because I have to waste every moment dealing with _lunatics_. And now I’ve to come in on my day off to attend a _seminar_ about human decency, because apparently a dozen trips to HR in one month is Gekkogahara’s breaking point. And here I was led to believe she’d have _tolerance_ , the persnickety bitch...”

In his ranting, he’s trailed to stand behind the desk, crumpled pink slip in one fist dropping to a top drawer aside a fortune of other ones. It slams closed as his neck snaps straightened, fixing them each in ire. “What are you still doing in here? Out.”

“Uh-“

“We set up your printer for you!” Hagakure is quick to explain, to shimmy over and splay his arms toward it. “Surprise!”

All the fury seeps down him to the ankles. “Kirigiri told _you_ to set up _my_ printer? ... _Goddamn her._ ”

“Yep, yep! And look, it works great! All the lights came on and everything!” Hagakure captures Naegi over the shoulders in a sideways hugging. The slimmest blushes downward to staring at his fingers fiddling the end of his necktie.

Togami presses two fingers to the center of his glasses, moves next to press scrutiny over the new device. Another look falls upon Naegi, still refusing his stare, still aimlessly touching at the yellow strip of fabric.

“...Fine,” Togami accepts. His palms fan to usher them for the door. “I’ll test it later. Just leave me be.”

“Yay!” yelps the victor, tossing himself high into a jump that reminds him on the landing that he never did get around to tying those shoelaces this morning; a tripped step onto one pushes him backward, stumbles, stumbles, tries his grandest to keep it steady, and he’s very very almost caught himself before tumbling a freight train mess into the table behind them. He doesn’t know exactly what the slidey thing was for, only that it feels of ten thousand knife tips to land on spine first.

A yelp draws him back up to standing, where he crouches and whimpers and rubs the ache with both palms. Naegi stands in his same place, eyes twice their normal wide to blink-blink at the crushed mess left behind at the accident scene. Togami rests his face into a palm.

The office door slaps shut against their scapula.

Still groaning, Hagakure hisses pain from the teeth as he forces his back straight in a stretch of him, arms above the head that bring forth with it an evening time yawn. “Eh...sorry, Naegichi. I think I fell a little.”

He eyes over the other’s way, his chest expanding, relaxing into an exhale of the whole day outward. “It’s...it’s okay, Hagakure. We can fix it tomorrow.”

Hand dropped to his lithe shoulder, Hagakure smiles to him. It drops to a new presence approaching, and Kirigiri just hardly looks at him, but it’s enough, because she says, “Good work,” into a sip on her paper soda cup straw, and continues on her joyful jaunting way.

Hagakure cannot suppress his ear to ear beam.

When he asks Naegi for a ride home after they’ve punched out, the fatigue in his hazel greens is only second to the nod that gradually must creep outward.

“Anything excitin’ happen at work today?”

Evening television flickers across the box screen; he’s sunk into the living room’s battered old sofa, worn to comfort, too, in the ottoman beneath his sock heels. Hagakure delights in the periods after work has fizzled out, where he can _finally_ relax after the hours of toil. But his mother’s asked him of those hours, shouted it to him over the length of the kitchen, and he tilts his circle mouth toward that room to chatter back. “Nothing special! Oh, I think one of my coworkers died, or something.”

The show wanders off to commercials. A purple dog slurps yogurt from a tube and raves about its flavor. His mother is always persuasive in getting the cable turned back on.

Cabinets tumble shut one by one, replaced in another opened in a click of her stick on manicure. “That’s a bummer, baby. Want Hot Pockets for dinner?”

“Yippee!”

Dark settles beyond the living room windows. The working class lay themselves into bed from a day well spent, checks well earned, and he himself nuzzles divine cotton once the sun’s set and he’s pleased with all he’s accomplished. Hagakure Yasuhiro: Future Foundation champion.

He thinks the day off tomorrow comes perfectly deserved.


End file.
